


13x11 Sam Character Study

by turntochapter13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Depression, Episode: s13e11 Breakdown, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, sams not dealing with his feelings, season 12 and 13 spoilers????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turntochapter13/pseuds/turntochapter13
Summary: Nothing felt more accustomed to his hand more now than a crystal glass filled with bourbon.





	13x11 Sam Character Study

**Author's Note:**

> I have a feeling I might create more sad Sam drabbles in the future so I'm probably going to make a collection out of these. 
> 
> -Lili <3

It was mornings like these that made it seem like everything was in slow motion. Like time was still, and the silence never ended. At least that's what it was like for Sam. He didn't sleep at all through night wishing that the bunker was level with the ground so he could stare out at the beautiful colors shifting as the hours went by. He would just lay there and watch them sway until it was finally bright orange and yellow and the light would cascade into the dark, plain room and he'd still be there. A lump on the hard mattress. There was a weight in his chest. What was it, he didn't know. It felt as though he couldn't breathe and every time he would try and come up for a fresh breath of air, it would be blocked by this lump in his throat. Or maybe it was a knot in his stomach. He didn't know. Every once in a while he would turn over and feel tears prick his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was because of the irritation that they had been invited to with the lack of sleep or something else.  
Nothing. There was nothing that would stop the feeling. He knew. He had this problem before, multiple times actually, but he never let it get to him. He would just shove it down deeper and deeper hoping that maybe the thoughts would disappear some how. Of course they didn't.  
Sure they went away for a little while in a way. Those were the times when he would allow himself to be taken over with the temptation of the hard liquor they kept in the library of the bunker. He tried to hide his habits from Dean cause he knew that Sam didn't really take to the strong brews much because he was such a light weight. That's probably why the stuff helped Sammy out so much. When Dean would go out to the store and get some groceries for the next few weeks, Sam would just slip into the well acquainted lounge chair. The wood beneath softly crunching against a few loose crumbs on the floor before settling in its place. After he had succumbed to this desire a few times, the glass began to feel formed perfectly for his hand and his hand only. He was usually aware enough to stop after the second cup or so, so he could put the bottle back where it was and act like it had never released a single drop. It wasn't that hard anymore anyway. Dean had actually stopped drinking a lot, only sticking to the vanilla, usually beer or something light, and he seemed to only pass by the cabinet, seeing there was no reason to check on each one as thought he was a protective dad and they were rebellious children. This counted as a score for Sam, until one night he got little too into the vodka that he had found there. The bunker seemed to have an endless supply and when ever they ran out, Sam would run out and secretly replace the ones that rung empty.  
It tasted like liquid gold against his parched tongue, leaving behind a little tang as he swallowed. He wasn't a big fan of the strong group in the alcohol section, but at the time, he really didn't care. That day was particularly rough. It was right after they got home from Jody's. Claire and Kaia had saved them from... whatever that place was, but Mary was still gone. Now Jack too, and not to mention, they got an innocent girl killed. "God it's all my fault." He kept repeating to himself, "If only I didn't pressure him into saving mom... all my fault" He didn't even get a chance to sleep through the trip, South Dakota to Kansas, or more like he couldn't. Everything was just collapsing down onto them. His shoulders felt like they were slumped lower that ever.  
When they finally settled back into the familiar setting of the wayward Men of Letters center that they now called home, Dean went directly to bed and Sam said that he was planning on researching more about the alternate universes that they knew about now, but that's not the real reason he wanted to stay up. He waltzed over to the familiar lacquer that glazed the wood in front of him, the smells wafting over him as he clicked open one of the doors. 

Dean didn't know what it was, but he knew something was up with Sam. He'd been acting strange for the past few months now. Well more than usual. After the Lucifer possessing one of his best friends thing happened, it was a little touch and go, but he got through it, or that's what Dean thought. Then Toni captured him and beat the freaking crap out of him. He got a little shaken, but then he seemed to mellow out after a while. Still Dean thought there might be something else that he was holding back but he wasn't sure. And now this... hot mess to say the least. Mom in the alternate universe. Cas was dead, not anymore, thank God.  
He used to know what Sam was thinking. It was like this sixth sense kind of thing, but over the years, as more crap started to reel into there rear view mirror, that sense just dissipated until it was almost not existence. Still he could tell facts, and the fact was that Sam started developing bags under his eyes, his posture was more sluggish along with his face that never seemed to show that mind goggling dimpled smile nowadays. Every time he saw him, it chipped away a little bit of his heart, seeing him go through this. Now he was sitting on his bed, the covers over his legs. He was blasting Queens iconic Bohemian Rhapsody through the headphones, clicking his phones home button repeatedly as he watched the numbers on the digital clock change every once in a while as the minutes melted into seconds.  
Finally around 2:30am he got up. He couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts were running through his head.  
He faltered out into the hallway, rubbing his eyes, to attempt to get them to adjust better to the sudden brightness of the hallway corridor. "What?" he whispered to himself. Sam always turned out the lights when he went to bed because Dean always forgot. The habit would kind of turn annoying when it was Sam who ended up being the first in bed, but that didn't seem to be a problem for a while now. His feet shuffled as across the rough terrain beneath his slippers as he made his way closer to the kitchen when he heard a sudden thump. There was actually two noises that synced together almost at the same time. One he couldn't really recognized, but the other was kind like what you would hear when somehow got a blow to the stomach. That was all he needed to muster up a sprint with his exhausted body. Too many times had that noise been a sign of an upcoming fight with some supernatural intruder.  
He was standing at the base of the hallways within a few seconds, now the main entrance in view. He went over to the map table where they kept two fully loaded 45. Calibers just incase.  
He didn't dare call out for Sam, it was too risky if there was actually somebody in the bunker daring to hurt one of the Winchesters. Each footstep cascaded into an echo that filled the silent room, making Dean cringe. He rounded into the library, gun steady in his locked arms.  
It took him a few minutes to comprehend that he wasn't seeing a Shapeshifter, or maybe a Werewolf, it was just his brother, limp of the ground, laying right next to the now open alcohol cabinet. "Oh my God Sam!" he plopped the gun onto the library table as gentle as he could before practically sliding on his knees to Sam's side. "Hey. Hey! Sam buddy what happened?" he rolled the younger hunter onto his back, the glass cup still evident, but now empty in his loose fingers. Sam gave a grunt as he squirmed at Dean's touch. "Dude... are you hammered?"

Sam and Dean never talked about that night, but it was always the obvious elephant in the room. The kind that wavers in conversation when the rest of life goes by. The kind that no one ever likes to talk about because they really don't know what to say. Sam remembers the things he admitted to Dean when he was drunk out of his wits. He remembers almost throwing up on the kitchen table as Dean attempted to make a bloody Mary. The now opened box of doubts and secrets that Sam was always worried of only few finding out about was not only cracked but broken in pieces on the floors of his mind. So now, all Sam does is lay in bed, watching the green glow of the digital clock numbers tick by, no rum to help with the pain, no one to vent to, at least no one who would understand it.

**Author's Note:**

> okay... so I tried to make a collection but I just got really confused and gave up so :|


End file.
